


Spring Thaw

by buttercups3



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: All the boy sex including rimming, Explicit Sex, F/M, Language, M/M, Multi, PWP, RM2, Threesome, hetero sex too, takes place during the lost 5 days in 2.13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:31:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seriously, how does one summarize PWP? Rachel, Miles, and Bass have all the sex with a heavy emphasis on Miloe and their feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring Thaw

Rachel has shut the door on the slumbering Gene, whose intermittent hacking is enough to wake the dead. To avoid the ruckus, Bass is napping in the corner across from the cellar stairs, curled like a cat (or coiled like a snake), while Miles and Rachel sit side-by-side on the steps, regarding him. They’re not talking about him, though.

“Where’re Charlie and Connor?” Miles mumbles listlessly. It’s strange that for once, they’re genuinely bored. But Rachel won’t leave Gene, and Miles won’t leave Rachel, so here they sit, taking in Bass like a particularly dull show.

“Food,” Rachel replies laconically, shifting her crystalline eyes down to her graceful fingers. “Charlie said not to expect them back before the sun sets.” The unspoken addition to that sentence is: _Charlie tells me things, and I have no choice but to accept them._ In Rachel’s experience, Charlie fast-forwarded from twelve to twenty in a heartbeat.

Miles puffs out his cheeks and wrenches his eyes away from the transfixing golden curls. From beneath an arched eyebrow, he asks Rachel, “So what do you want to do?”

Rachel glides the tip of her finger down his sideburn and tucks his hair behind his right ear. “I can think of one way we used to pass time. In Philly?”

Miles swallows deliberately, as if he’s having difficulty passing that proposition down his esophagus. Rachel has almost given up on a response, when he closes his massive fingers around her slim hand and guides her palm to his lips. He kisses it – scratchy stubble and chapped lips – and then lays it against his lap. Her mouth slowly curls up at him, as she traces the sideways bulge in his jeans. While she reflects with amusement upon how erect penises find unique paths to liberation, Miles’ brain buzzes, crackles, skims out of focus.

“We should go somewhere -” Miles mutters with a reluctant and then overly-indulgent glance at Bass.

At that exact moment, Rachel says, “We could wake him up…for old time’s sake.”

“What?” Miles stutters.

Rachel withdraws her hand and brushes aside a curtain of fallen blonde waves. “I’m not leaving Dad. And _he’s_ right here” – _he_ meaning Bass. She half-shrugs, as if that’s the final word on the subject; Miles can either get laid with both of them or enjoy a raging case of blueballs for the foreseeable future.

Bass has awakened – was perhaps never fully out – and regards them with startling blue eyes that mirror Rachel's. Really, Rachel and Bass could be brother and sister, and inexplicably, this thought makes Miles lurch in his pants. Could any two people fuck more completely with your head? He watches Bass run a dry-knuckled hand over his face with palpable weariness.

Bass, for his part, is trying to decide if he can ignore the fact that they’re talking about him – _suggestively_ – as if he’s not here… _or_ not even human. 

Rachel continues at Miles, though she’s peering at Bass, “I did save him for you. I’m surprised you’ve kept your hands off him for this long since the big resurrection.” 

Miles quarrels, “You saved him for Charlie, you said.” Even as the words unfurl from his lips, he realizes how little sense they make. _For Charlie? No. For him. Of course._

“For _both_ of you, so that I could keep you,” is Rachel’s elaboration. “You never would have forgiven me. You might have tried, but it’d always be there between us.” 

Miles is about to object again, when Bass interrupts, sitting up testily. “Christ, Rachel. Saving me for Miles was hardly worth it.” If he weren’t so bone-tired, he’d be out of this cellar in an instant. But his brain is fuzzy as hell from afternoon napping, which only seems to make him more tired than he started.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Miles swings his jaw around to scowl at Bass. He can see Rachel squinting at them both in his peripheral vision. Every time Miles hears Bass’ voice, rage bubbles in the pit of his stomach. Rage or…something rawer. But Miles will be damned if he’s going to try to suss it out.

“It means you don’t exactly want me around. You’ve made that clear,” Bass glares and folds his arms, leaning his head back against the wall, his legs fallen open. Bass watches Miles’ eyes flick to the seam of his jeans and then away. He smirks. _Miles is a horny shit._ Bass takes a moment to appreciate the power he still has over his old friend.

“Well, that’s not what I heard,” Rachel intervenes, shattering Bass’ pleasure and replacing it with confusion.

Rachel attempts to push down her perpetual frustration at how much Miles needs Bass. If only they could both just move on. Part of her hopes that fucking Bass together again will somehow end the cycle. She follows up with Miles, “Charlie said she’d never seen you so broken as when you'd thought him dead.”

“Charlie doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about,” Miles snaps and wonders why he’s denying it, when he honest to God believed that he couldn’t go on the night he tried to drink Bass away. His eyes burn just thinking about it. 

“Miles, Jesus. Maybe we both need this,” Rachel tries for direct.

Bass gripes, “What about what _I_ need?”

Rachel lifts her eyebrows at him, as if to suggest: _You don’t get to have needs_. And what she actually says is not exactly friendly either: “I don’t hear you saying no.”

Bass cocks his head and studies her. “I want to hear him say it first.”

“Say what?” Miles is overwhelmed by the complexity of these two together – always has been.

“That you missed me. That you want me. Something _nice_ for once. I don’t fuck dickheads.”

“You sure about that?” Rachel challenges under a flattened eyebrow. “Go on, Miles. Don’t drag this out.”

Miles can’t imagine saying the words Bass wants to hear, not because they aren’t true, but because if Bass sees how much of Miles he still owns, they are all in danger. After a pause, Miles stands and trudges over to Bass. Then, hands on hips, staring down from a towering height, he gamely holds those electric blues. _Shit_ , are they traitorous, brutal, pretty.

Instead of rejoining, Bass’ slender fingers make quick work of Miles’ belt and fly, hoisting down his jeans and boxers to where they catch on his boots. There is no time for Miles to think before Bass nuzzles Miles' boner with his beard. The fucker inhales like he hasn’t smelled something so enticing since a hotdog at a baseball game. Miles’ dick twitches at the familiarity of that breath on it.

Bass whispers against the cock, “Say it, Miles.”

Miles shoves his calloused fingers into the curls to quell his desire to moan and whispers, “Fuck you, Bass.” 

“If you _want_ to fuck me, you’ll say it.”

Suddenly, the soft contours of Rachel’s body are behind Miles, and his bare ass registers that she’s stripped down to her panties. As she unbuttons and discards his shirt, hard nipple and supple breast mold to his back. So this is inevitable now. Rachel urges him in his ear, hot and tickling, “Just say it.”

“Missed you, Bass,” Miles coughs out, and Bass licks up the length of his dick.

“And?” Bass asks, reaching around Miles’ bum to stroke Rachel’s hip.

“Want you,” finishes the cracked voice.

If Miles had any doubts, they vanish when Bass opens his mouth wide and descends hot and wet until he can’t take in anymore, twisting the base of Miles’ cock with his free hand. From behind, Rachel buries her hand in Bass’ hair. Her fingers vie with Miles’ for dominion of the silky curls.

Bass jacks Miles turbulently into his mouth, unable to decide if he wants to hurt or enjoy his treacherous friend. Miles’ wanton sounds from above finally convince Bass to go all in. He pops off and rises, rubbing his throat from the lingering singe of Miles’ penis. Before Bass has a chance to worry, Miles yanks him against hard, hair-lined muscles for a penetrating kiss and that familiar taste of booze and salt. Bass lets himself get tongue fucked, offering little resistance, hating himself a little for how indulgent in his feelings for Miles he is growing by the second. Miles has wrenched out Bass’ guts over and over, and yet nothing feels more like home than this. Maybe home is simply a cruel place. Miles’ tongue is alternately rough and gentle, just like its asshole owner. Rachel’s arms migrate around Miles to hold Bass, and _she’s_ so stupidly soft that this all makes more sense than it should.

Finally, they break apart, desperate to finish disrobing. Bass and Miles both know what Rachel likes – to watch them inside each other; the question is, who needs to surrender most? It’s never her, in any case.

Miles sinks down, back against the wall and pulls Bass onto his lap, their dicks slipping and catching against one another, while Rachel looks down on them with interest. As Miles sucks on Bass’ neck, running hands all over him (but conscientiously avoiding the whip-scabs on his back), Rachel finally plops beside them to lay hands on their cocks, working them roughly – skin into skin into skin. Bass slumps his cheek against Miles’ shoulder, as Miles kisses his forehead, his earlobe, then inclines his head sideways to drink in Rachel’s lips.

Concern blooms in Bass that maybe he’s going to lose it early, and perhaps he’s not the only one. Miles’ taut dick is twitching hard against his. It’s actually Miles who breaks it off and pushes Bass forward onto his bedroll, aggressively parting his legs. Rachel crawls around to position Bass facedown in her lap, and the smell of her arousal, the softness of her curls, the wetness of her folds, intoxicate him. She strokes his hair mildly, as if they’re not engaged in an incredibly debauched, intricate threesome. She may be a jungle cat waiting to pounce and rip him open, but hell, he might be willing to die like this. And then Miles’ tongue is in his ass. _Fuck._

Miles licks Bass, pondering the most intimate taste in the world, as Bass shudders with his entire body, summoning in Miles’ chest an alarming wave of tenderness. This should be off-putting, but somehow it’s not. It’s Bass, and Miles would be remiss if there were any part of this body he hadn’t tasted.

He’d always talked dirty to Bass when they were alone together, and though it feels more intimate than something he’d like Rachel to know, he can’t help himself. It slips out: “I’m gonna fuck you so hard and deep, you little cunt.”

Bass moans and laughs into Rachel’s pussy at Miles’ proclamation. He’s not quite willing to admit how much he missed that…and how deeply he does want to get fucked by that over-sized cock. As Miles relaxes him, Bass grows more affectionate toward Rachel, too, licking into her wetness, enjoying the odd, syrupy taste. Rachel saved him _for Miles_. He’s half annoyed she seems to know them better than they know themselves and half grateful. “Uhh!” Bass yelps, as blunt pressure forces him open.

Rachel’s innards cramp up at the sight of Miles disappearing between Bass’ cheeks. She thrusts her pelvis forward into Bass, and he takes the hint, sucking harder (moaning at his own private world in which he and Miles are joined. _Damn._ She’s envious…is going to need a dick inside her, too, and it’s going to have to be Bass’ at this point. Miles’ is dirty.)

The part of Miles’ cock that isn’t completely buried in Bass is nestled pleasantly between butt cheeks. Miles is fast losing any desire to control himself and keeps trying to lock eyes with Rachel, but increasingly they have to squeeze their eyelids closed against the intensity of the fucking. 

Bass’ muscles clench around Miles, just as he is trying to imagine how far inside Rachel Bass’ tongue reaches. Miles loses it, pulsing, coming, bracing himself against Bass’ body so that he doesn’t tear Bass with the violence of his orgasm. And then Miles collapses, resting his cheek on the curve of Bass’ back and daring to look up at Rachel again, who is smiling at him. All of a sudden, re-opening this can of worms feels stupid as hell, so Miles pushes away all thoughts and gives himself over to torpor. He would fall asleep if it weren’t for Rachel’s voice penetrating his haze:

“Miles. Our turn.”

Miles dutifully rolls off, and Rachel lets him thread his body behind her, as she settles down into his hard edges and fur. Behind her is whiskey and smoke, and in front, lemon and leather, both of them drenched in sweat. Bass fills her and starts thrusting.

Bass’ prostate is still thudding from Miles, and the warm cushion of Rachel’s body is making him impatient. Each slam of his dick against her inner wall elicits a grunt-whimper from Rachel, whose nails dig achingly into his shoulder. When one almost grazes a whip-gash, he freezes. Miles notices and gently pulls aside Rachel’s hand, securing her fingers in his. His other hand is buried between Bass and Rachel – Bass can feel its rough skin every time he slams forward.

“Oh!” Rachel bites down, nearly on her tongue, as she clamps around Bass and seizes into Miles’ fingers.

Bass almost loses it, too, and yanks himself out. Instantly, two sets of hands – one smooth and cool and the other calloused and burning – are on his dick, urging him to climax, and _fuck_ does he come hard.  

Rachel ducks to avoid the spray, while Miles moans behind her, almost as if it were _him_ coming. The boys have a connection that Rachel doesn’t exactly want to ponder too carefully. Miles slides his cum-slicked hands up her stomach and over her breasts, and goddamn if this isn’t the most sated she’s been in recent memory.

Bass plops his cheek onto the softness of her stomach (nose in his own ejaculate), peering straight down at her cesarean scar. He’s tempted to kiss it, but she wouldn’t take kindly to that. 

Just as they heave a collective sigh, a voice comes from behind the closed door: “Rachel!” It’s Gene.

Without a thought for how entangled they are, Rachel flails body parts in all directions, scrambling for her clothes. She glances briefly back at their sleepy forms on the floor, before cracking the door the minutest space and disappearing into it.

When she’s gone, to Bass’ surprise, Miles pulls him onto his chest. No sooner has Bass inhaled whiskey and sweat, than the real shocker comes: tenderness like Bass hasn’t heard in years.

“How’s your back?” Miles skims a finger down Bass’ bicep.

Bass has to swallow a surge of emotion. “Always so fucking sentimental after you come.” His voice sounds forced even to him.

The comment should irk Miles, but at the moment, he’s too wiped to take the bait. The idea of even getting dressed before Charlie and Connor return, which is bound to be hours from now, seems insurmountable. He runs his palm over Bass’ scalp and down to the bearded jawline to incline the chin for a kiss. 

“Not with everyone,” Miles finally exhales, and he might be startled at his own honesty.

Bass kisses him back for a moment and then deflates onto his chest. “Oh?”

“Just with you two.”

Bass can’t help but smile and rakes his fingers up through the chest hair that crowds out his view. A wave of sadness suddenly threatens his glow. “But once we get up, it’s back to ice?”

“We’ll see.”

“Really? That’s all you got?”

Miles shrugs.

Bass grumbles and nuzzles into armpit – strong, spicy, Miles. _Dickhead._


End file.
